A Life in the Dark
by rittenden
Summary: An answer to Ginger S's challenge "Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances." Oneshot. Un-beta'd. Rated K-plus for subject matter only.


**A/N:** Standard disclaimers apply. If you don't like, move on. Flamers and trollers see my profile.

_"Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances." - Markesa Yeager_

* * *

When people ask me what it's like being an engineer, I usually tell them it's a pretty quiet profession compared to that of a lineman or a rescue man or a truckie. I spend a lot of time at the panel, adjusting valves and studying gauges - not exactly a high-stress position by contrast. I haven't always been an engineer so I know what I'm talking about.

After that, I usually gloss over some comment about being the second-in-command and the responsibilities that go with it. I might mention helping out the paramedics once in a while but for the most part it's all driving and watching gauges. All in all a pretty safe position for a firefighter. At least that was what I told my folks when I got the promotion.

But today Fate decided to stir things up a bit.

I think I got complacent, staring at the gauges for the last two years. In the back of my mind I must've thought that I wouldn't have to worry about hauling hose anymore. I still train for it just as hard as the rest of the guys, of course, but I was getting a free pass on actually working a fire. I'm still a little... unsettled... at how quickly I wound up on the working end of a hose.

By the time we got called out, this situation was long past a two-alarm fire. The battalion chief sent us directly in for relief - we didn't even lay our lines. I think it's the first time in two years I've had to put on full turnouts. All that training served me well, though - I was still suited up before Chet and _he_ had his bunker pants on.

The guys we replaced were beat. Although they were part of our battalion, they were a long way from Carson so they'd been working the fire for almost an hour before we arrived. The building itself was pretty much a goner but we still had to try. It was an eight-story office building and word was there were still people inside.

I'd only been on the line about five minutes before the captain of 36s tapped me on the shoulder and said we had to go in. Apparently some of the guys working up on four had gotten trapped and needed help. I was surprised he was sending in linemen, but as we headed in I saw Gage and DeSoto ahead of us, so I guess they were anticipating the need for extra manpower.

Inside was like walking into a room full of boiling ink. In the movies you see firefighters waving their lights around and picking their way over burned garbage but in reality a working fire is nothing like that. The only light available is from the fire itself and if you're looking at that, you're blind to everything else. Flashlights aren't effective after about three feet. Everything is pitch black and hot and muggy - like I said: boiling ink.

Things started to get clearer as we went up. There were only two staircases in the building and the south one was already engulfed. One of the guys with us went down as we reached the third floor so Gage took him back out. I think he was the one on the line outside with me but I'm not sure anymore.

We got up to the fourth floor eventually. It only took a couple of minutes to figure out it was filled with cubicles and offices. The entire floor was laid out in a type of 'O' with the elevators in the middle and stairways at both ends. Since we already knew the south one was gone, we pulled hose from the rack in the north stairwell and brought it out with us, just in case.

Although I technically outrank him, I let DeSoto take charge of the men, assigning their search areas. Rescue operations were his thing, not mine. I was directed to the west side of the floor with three other guys and we started poking around in the darkness.

Whoever thought up the cubicle idea... I can't decide if they were intelligent or on some serious medication. On the one hand, it's a great idea for search efforts since everything is in one large room, but the downside is that it's laid out like a lab maze which makes it very difficult for the guy lugging the hose - namely me. Since I was the biggest guy there it only made sense that I lug the charged line and let the smaller guys creep around under desks and the like.

This particular section didn't have a main walkway. It was a series of turns and switchbacks around corners, making dragging that hose darn difficult. I briefly considered pulling the hose over the wall dividers but it was a charged line. Not only was there a risk of knocking them down, but inch and a half line charged is just over fifty pounds per length. I may be a strong guy but I'm not stupid. I wouldn't get halfway across the floor before my strength gave out - never mind getting back outside again.

Thankfully a couple of the guys started pushing the walls out of the way when they cleared an area. It was time-consuming but it sure made things a lot easier. We were halfway down the west side of the floor when Gage tapped me on the shoulder to let me know he was back. I was about to ask him how the guy he took out was doing when I heard a shout from one of the searchers. I watched Gage disappear into the murk to see what was going on and then went back to pulling on the hose.

A minute or so later I saw Gage coming back with a guy in a suit slung over his shoulder. Right behind him were two others each carrying an unconscious office worker. I stepped to one side to let them go by and Gage hollered that there were more people in a corner office. Since they could follow the line back to the stairwell, I dropped the nozzle on the floor and made my way over to where I thought the shouts had come from. The hose was essentially useless to me now - it was only long enough to cover roughly half the floor space. I'm guessing the interior designers figured that if there was a problem on the south end of the floor, the line in the south stairwell would take care of it. Brilliant.

I found the other searcher within fifteen feet of where I started. There were two more people lying on the floor where he'd dragged them so I scooped one up while he grabbed the other. We took them over to the north stairs, following the hose line on the floor, and I was about to push the door open when my team-mate said there were still more offices to check. That made me pause. I had to get the people we already had out but I didn't want to leave anyone behind - especially when they were so close to that hot stairwell.

Just then the door popped open and DeSoto was there. I gave him the lady I was carrying, told him I was going back for the others and started to turn when he grabbed my sleeve. Apparently the fire went up the north stairwell like a chimney and caught on the sixth floor storage area. The battalion chief was talking about pulling everyone out and letting it go.

I sure wouldn't have wanted to be in his shoes. Knowing there were people inside a mess like this and having to decide whether to send in more people? No thanks. I asked DeSoto if there was anyone up there but he didn't know for sure. They'd already found the trapped firefighters and got them out, so if there was anyone left they would be employees.

If I had that moment to do over, I now think I'd have made a different choice.

As it was, I told DeSoto to take a couple of the guys coming up behind him and go get the survivors on our floor. Then I pointed to another guy standing on the stairs and told him to come with me. I think DeSoto was going to protest but he kept his mouth shut and nodded. He and the other two went through the doorway while I and the third guy - the name on his bunkers read 'Patterson' - headed up the stairs. On five I yanked open the door and took a quick look around. It seemed pretty clear but I could see flames dripping from the ceiling as the tiles melted. I gave him the signal for a quick search and we headed into the gloom.

This floor didn't have cubicles, thank God. We spent about four minutes searching before meeting back at the stairwell. Patterson pushed through and ran up the steps with me right on his heels. I knew we were running out of time in more ways than one. Not only did we have the fire to contend with but if my calculations were right, we only had about five more minutes of air in our bottles. I knew if we went out, anyone left in here would be doomed. There's no way the chief would send in more guys - the building was too far gone.

We skipped the sixth and seventh floors - the door on seven was as hot as six - and headed up to eight. I told Patterson to move fast down the east side and I'd take the west again. I just about changed my mind when I opened the door, though - this floor was all closed offices. Searching them was going to take more time than we had.

I turned to Patterson then and told him to listen for his alarm. If it went off, no matter what he was doing, he was to get out. Most people think being in a fire is dark and quiet but in reality it's not. There's so much noise that you actually start ignoring it when you're trying to hear people calling for help. I've known guys - Gage and DeSoto, to name a couple - who didn't hear their tank alarms while they were looking for victims.

We split up then - Patterson heading left while I went right - and started checking doors. Every one on my side opened onto rooms with lots of furniture, so I had to go into each one to check for survivors. I hoped Patterson was having better luck than me, decor-wise. It was taking too much time to go through each office. I kept one ear open for voices answering my call of "Fire department! Anyone in here?" and one on my tank alarm, sure that I'd hear the latter before the former.

As it was, I'd only gotten about two-thirds down the hallway before it went off. I was about to turn around when I heard Patterson call my name. Apparently his side was clearer than mine and he'd rounded the end of the floor before coming back up on my side. In the thickening smoke it was almost impossible to see him but I could barely make him out coming up the hall towards me. He'd just started to yell something about there only being three more doors when the world ended.

That was the last time I saw him. Given the fact that I've been out cold a couple of times since, I'm guessing it was more than an hour ago but probably less than four. I don't know what I did right - or wrong, depending on how you look at it - but I'm still here... still alive.

That's the up side - sort of. The down side is, I don't know where 'here' is. From what I can see I'm thinking 'here' is the fourth floor. I could be wrong, though. It's tough to see from where I'm sitting. Or lying. Definitely lying.

I should probably get rid of the air bottle. It's digging into my back but I don't know if I can. It feels like I broke something. Arm or shoulder or whatever. I tried once to push some of the junk off me but my lights went out pretty quick. Come to think of it, I _must_ be on the fourth floor because most of what's piled on top of me are those stupid cubicle dividers.

On the other hand, it could've been less than an hour - of me lying here, I mean. I don't know how long I was out for, really, but when one takes into consideration the fact that floors one, two, six and seven were definitely involved - and five was about to be - and that I'm probably on four with minimal involvement, then I probably haven't been in here as long as that.

I've been trying to listen for sounds of others working the fire. Like I said before, though, fires are noisy. Although there isn't a lot burning where I am, and my right ear is ringing like a darn church bell, I can still hear the roar of the flames and the sound of parts of the building collapsing. At least I don't have to put up with the tank alarm anymore. It quit a while ago.

My moment of panic has passed. For now. I've had a chance to think it through and I've come to realize that I'll run out of breathable air before the flames get to where I am. It's a cold comfort but one I've come to terms with. I'm pretty sure that they'll tell my parents I didn't burn to death - and if one of my crew talks to them, I know they'll couch it in terms like "It would've been like falling asleep" or something similar.

Now the biggest enemy is keeping control of my emotions. For a minute, just before I blacked out the second time, my temper got the better of me and I kicked at the debris holding my right leg in place. Not only was that awkward because of the broken bones on my left side, but it was also painful as hell. It's the first time in my life that I've been in enough pain to render coherent thought impossible. Thank God I passed out when I did.

I can hear more of the fifth floor collapsing. From where I'm lying I can see a bit of light through the smoke above me, leading me to believe the building has buckled floors all the way to the roof. It's a mixed blessing. Whereas it means that they don't have to risk sending anyone up for vertical ventilation, it also means the fire has more oxygen to burn. I can't decide if I want it to go slower or faster.

I heard a story once about a soldier that was wounded in the middle of a firefight in 'Nam. He couldn't get back to his own lines because of his injuries and he knew the Viet Cong would soon overrun his position. Rather than wait it out, he pulled his sidearm and shot himself. I can kind of see why he'd do that. I suppose it's good that firemen don't carry weapons.

The sad part of the story was that his buddies were making their way to his position to try to get him out. If he'd just waited a little longer he would've been rescued and taken back to a field hospital and probably shipped home. He went home anyway but in a pine box. What a waste.

The only thing I've got on me is a broken flashlight, a spare pair of gloves and my multi-tool. I sure wish I had a handy-talkie on me. I suppose I could give myself a couple of good whacks on the head with the multi but I wouldn't want my folks to find out about that. It sounds more like something a comic-book character would do. I don't want people to laugh at my death.

I can feel the floor getting softer - whether from heat or water, I don't know. It's only a matter of time before it gives way and I wind up on the ground floor. With seven floors of burning debris on top of me. The panicky feeling is starting to return but I have to push it back - I want to keep my mind clear for whatever comes next.

Enough of this. I can use the seatbelt cutter on the multi to get my tank off. It's not much but my shoulder feels a lot better. I don't think my leg is broken so maybe with a bit of wiggling I can work it free...

I wonder how much time I just lost. Something below the belt is definitely broken. It's getting warmer in here but I feel cold. I guess that's shock setting in. What are you supposed to do for shock? Oh yeah - elevate the legs. That's not going to happen.

I _did_ have a plan, sort of. Get to the north stairwell. Even if they stopped the rescue efforts I'd have a better chance in there because of the reinforced concrete. On the other hand, there's nothing to say it hasn't turned into a chimney like the south one.

Well, Stoker - any regrets? Yeah... a couple. I wish I'd put some effort into meeting that cute girl at the supermarket. I wish I'd let the guys know how much I enjoy working with them - how much their friendship means to me. I wish I'd told Captain Stanley off for getting himself electrocuted. I wish I'd pranked Chet just once...

Not much longer now. It's getting hard to breathe. Starting to imagine things. Seems like the smoke is clearing but I know that's not possible. Could've sworn I heard Marco's voice a minute ago but I know he's manning a heavy line on the south side. Be gentle when you tell my parents, Cap...

_"Mike?"_


End file.
